I had a dream.
We lived in a mountain village somewhere.
I would write poetry
and you would braid hair.

Of all the people I think I've known
I think I've known you the best.
But what is this thing you have brought, oh my
My friend, only an impulse binds the sky.

It was summer
I wanted to be awful bold
Its wintertime in august now
and I'm awful awful cold.

Half of your time - beside me only atmosphere
the singular - raised by heats and wet
Seems a while
Since I could smile the way you do.

One soft day when we're done
I'll make you meet your brother - he's a mess
He flunked out of art school
because the roundness of his pots was less.

All joy wants eternity, my punk philosopher said.
But servants all, he too needed his bread.
Would eternal joy still be joy?

The six of us, three waiting, three in a mindcell

We shall sit again in some orderly hell.

and i will tell them about you.

When i lay still at night dreaming

stars high and light

then i wanted to be with you, 

when the rooftops shone dark.

Its a sick world, sick,sick,sick.